


Foggy Mirror

by Smilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2009, M/M, Season: four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-24
Updated: 2011-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:18:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smilla/pseuds/Smilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I think we're in Minnesota, he says before you ask, and his voice is worn out. Sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foggy Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted [here](http://smilla02.livejournal.com/150699.html)]

Usually, he lets you sleep. In your dreams, you can make up his face, the terrible beauty of him, not directly, never directly. A reflection in a foggy mirror.

Other times, he wakes you up, eases you back into the body you've given to him.

I think we're in Minnesota, he says before you ask, and his voice is worn out. Sad.

You flex your arms, bend your legs. You're ungraceful after sleeping so long, clumsy, unused to a real body after living through your dreams.

You're naked on a bed, in a room that looks like a motel. An ache in your side that hits you with a memory of pain, memories of flames and shouts and a battle. The screams of the dying.

Hush, he says, before you delve too deep in it, and you let it go, the memory sliding like sand in your hands. You do as he says because you trust him to know better.

You can't do a lot for him, you're like a blade of grass in the storm; you could only say yes when he asked, and you were his to take.

But you did, he says. You said yes.

You were annoyed at first, this constant presence alongside yours, like a parallel conscience, more than a shadow - alive and sentient and doing great things with your body. You were annoyed at first, but now you aren't.

You needed to rest, he says, and you can hear his sorrow echoing in the beats of your heart, through that shared muscle that sustains you both. You don't ask what happened, you put your hand on your chest, press your palm above your heart. He sighs and you wonder if he ever sleeps, if he ever rests. If he takes care of himself the same way he takes care of you and your body.

You run your hand in a circular motion against your heart, feel him relaxing. The sensation is so elating you wonder why you didn't think of it before. He not only possess your body; he is you in ways you still can't really understand.

The realization hits you and you're suddenly thrilled.

Your fingers are cold, the touch of them slightly alien on your own body when you move your hand on your navel, toward your dick. Faint scent of soap hits your nostrils when you thread your fingers in your pubic hair. It's still wet, like after a shower.

Do you want me to leave you alone for a while, he asks?

No, you say.

He's confused, you can tell, but you're not going to let him leave. You slide your hand between your legs, cup your balls, a fleeting touch, before letting go, but it's enough to feel yourself harden. It's been so long for you, too.

You remember you have another hand and you put it above your heart, feel the strong beat of it, the proof of life, yours and his.

The inside of your leg is sweaty, hot, and you spread your legs. He tenses again and you hush him, this time. Hope he can read your thoughts like he usually can because you can't translate into words what you're thinking.

He freezes when you take your dick in your hand. A small movement and you're fully hard, another, downward, and you feel yourself flushing. You'd like to see yourself in a mirror, see your own body reflected back at you. See the widening of your eyes knowing it's him who's reacting to your touch. And now your breathing's faster, in through your nostrils and out through your mouth. Tongue on your dry lips, and you groan, or maybe he does.

You've done this so many times, used your own hand, but it was never like this, your entire body becoming alive with each stroke. Each part of you, of him – you feel the scratch of the rough sheet on your back and legs, the draft of air on your face and nipples. You increase the pace; tighten your hand around yourself. You know what gets you off, slight twist on the head of your cock, a thumb pressed on the slit. His quiet stillness so full of wonder and you're coming, you both. You with a loud groan, he with a silent tremble that rocks the bed and its frame, the walls. That makes the curtains swing wildly.

You breathe in. He breathes with you.

You can't do a lot for him. This powerful being to whom you could only say yes. But you could do this.

Later that night, he eases you back into sleep; you smile, wish him good luck and barely hear his murmured thank you. You are sure you see his face before you close your eyes, not directly, just a reflection in a foggy mirror.

\--


End file.
